


in bloom

by sky_reid



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Flower Shop, Banter, Blow Jobs, Come Sharing, Comeplay, Face-Fucking, Facials, Flirting, Flowers, Fluff, Hand Jobs, Humor, Jealousy, M/M, Porn, Porn With Plot, Romance, Semi-Public Sex, Valentine's Day, louis wears a flower crown while having his face fucked who's with me, neither of them knows shit abt flowers don't get too excited, not the spa kind
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-14
Updated: 2016-02-14
Packaged: 2018-05-20 11:26:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,441
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6004222
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sky_reid/pseuds/sky_reid
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>louis delivers flowers. harry is not liam. (he's also not a florist.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	in bloom

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Awriterwrites](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Awriterwrites/gifts).



> i was originally going to write for a different prompt but as ever switched at the last minute and i do mean last minute i literally started over today i'm awful don't look at me
> 
> @awriterwrites: i genuinely really liked all of your prompts and am still v much hoping to one day finish the homeless!louis fic i first started for this. since you pretty much gave me free reign over everything i'm kinda nervous about this, but here's hoping it fulfills your expectations! :)
> 
> anyway i'm not sure if i'm happy with how this turned out to be honest but i hope it's okay????
> 
> (oh and harry's wearing the [apple music festival outfit](https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/736x/eb/fc/1d/ebfc1d2f3e1c32f54807f71ae540d67d.jpg), louis looks like [this](https://pbs.twimg.com/media/CZ66iDSWcAAiP_j.jpg) complete with scruff and [the black denim jacket he wore with the apple logo tee](http://harryandlouis.com/wp-content/uploads/2014/11/louis-rainbow-apple-104.jpg), tulips signify perfect love not perfection in general and [this](http://cache.desktopnexus.com/thumbseg/888/888148-bigthumbnail.jpg) is a peach carnation)

“You’re not Liam,” is not exactly the best way Louis’ ever started a conversation with a cute boy. The loud bark of laughter that comes out of said boy’s mouth before he covers it is definitely one of the best reactions he’s had though.

“No,” the boy agrees with a faint smile still curving his lips, “I’m Harry.”

“Harry,” Louis repeats, the name ringing bells all around his head. Harry, the childhood friend Liam mentions sometimes. Harry, the photographer who was offered a scholarship in New York and decided to stay in Manchester to be close to his family. Harry, the romantic who was once dumped on Valentine’s Day but still thinks it’s one of the best holidays of the year. Harry who works weddings for free if he likes the couple, who carries a leather journal that no one gets to read, who tried out for X Factor but didn’t make it, who wears ugly shirts and too many rings, who has a disorganised mish-mash of tattoos he doesn’t regret, who makes terrible jokes no one but him finds funny. Harry who Liam failed to say is the most gorgeous person Louis has ever in his entire life seen, with his green eyes and pink lips and dark curls and broad shoulders and long legs and wow, Louis really needs to stop checking this boy out so obviously.

“Yep,” Harry agrees, popping the ‘p’ with more flourish than it really deserves. “And you’re Louis,” he says proudly. His smile turns a little mischievous, a little lopsided, a little more into a smirk. Louis’ tummy feels pleasantly aflutter.

“That I am,” he confirms. His voice comes out slightly higher than he expects. He coughs into his hand to clear his throat. “So, Harry,” he says, consciously controlling his tone. Harry purses his lips as if that will hide the grin that makes his dimples appear. Louis' cheeks feel as if somebody's just lit a fire under them. The corners of his lips tug upwards in a smile entirely without his say-so. “Care to tell me what you’ve done with Liam?”

“Banished him. It’s a coup d’état,” Harry replies readily. “I’m taking over _The Flower_ _Kingdom_.” His jaw works visibly when he bites the inside of his cheek. He looks inordinately proud of his joke. Louis has to look away and bury his grin in his shoulder, more endeared than he’d like to admit.

“Good,” he says. “Shoddy ruler, that boy. Terrible to his underlings, makes them come in early on Sunday mornings in appalling weather, it’s proper inhumane.”

Harry giggles. “Tragic,” he says in the same flat monotone that seems to be his normal voice. It’s completely at odds with the warm friendliness he exudes and the smile that seems to be his perpetual feature. Louis barely suppresses the urge to reach out and do something overly familiar, like trace the slope of Harry’s cheekbone with a thumb or poke a finger in the crater of his dimple or feel the plush softness of his lips against his own. He shakes his head at himself and puts his hands in the pockets of his jacket before they can do something his brain hasn’t approved.

“How worried should I be about Liam then?” he asks.

“Oh, he’ll be fine,” Harry says, then pauses, tilts his head as if in thought. “Well, no, he says he’s dying. But I’m pretty sure it’s just a cold.”

“It would be just my luck that the one time Liam gets sick is on Valentine’s Day,” Louis complains.

“Hey,” Harry drawls, “are you saying I’m not good enough of a replacement?”

A million different replies fly through Louis’ head in the span of only a few seconds. He settles on, “Trust me, love, you’re definitely an upgrade. But I’ve been driving that van for three years now and I still can’t even name most of the shit he has in here. So good fucking luck to you.”

“I might secretly be a flower whisperer, you never know,” Harry replies slowly and with a casual shrug of a shoulder. He's lying and Louis is not fooled.

“You’re a photographer.”

“I’m a man of many talents. Very versatile.”

Louis chokes on nothing so badly it turns into a coughing fit that has Harry patting his back while giggling in his ear. He maybe pretends to be coughing for a bit longer just to feel how Harry’s large hand spans almost the entire width of his back when it rests there. “That’s good to know,” he finally chokes out when Harry steps away. Harry only manages to grin in response before his phone whistles, vibrations loud against the glass-shelf-casing-turned-worktop it sits on. He picks it up and checks the screen.

“Liam says to tell you that all preorders for the day are done and set up as usual in the backroom. He says you’ll know what that means,” he informs with a determined nod of his head.

Louis makes a show of looking around the store. “Is he spying on us from behind some bushes? Because that’s some uncanny timing,” he jokes.

“It’s all an elaborate scheme,” Harry deadpans. “He’s faking being ill to set us up.”

“I wish,” Louis snorts. He really needs new friends if the ones he has are keeping pretty boys like Harry away from him. The buzzing of his phone in his pocket should probably not be a surprise, but it still startles him. He takes it out only to find a text from Liam lighting up the screen. _stp starin at harrys bum & startdriving_, it reads. “Fucking hell,” Louis mutters under his breath, barely suppressing the urge to look over his shoulder. He pockets his phone and clasps his hands in front of himself. “Alright. Where am I going first?”

*

Weddings are always a hit-and-miss type of thing, either heart-warmingly sweet or a stressful mess, but Louis’ never had to rub someone’s back while they cry into his jacket before. There’s a first time for everything, he supposes.

“I’ve just never— never been good at words,” the groom sobs into his shoulder. “And now I— I only have a few hours— to think of my vows and it’s just—“

“There, there,” Louis soothes, patting the man’s back awkwardly. All he did was ask if they needed help arranging the petals over the red carpet marking the aisle. He doesn’t even know the man’s name. “It’ll be alright.”

“You don’t understand,” the man practically shouts, pulling back to give Louis a wild-eyed look. Louis feels his eyebrows rising. Liam likes to think they're an above-and-beyond type of service, but this is definitely not in Louis' job description. “It has to be _perfect_! She deserves everything to be perfect!” the man says. He pauses then, takes a deep breath. And just as Louis is about to hastily make his retreat, he slumps over as if all his strength leaves him at the same time. “I’m not perfect,” he adds so quietly Louis barely hears it. His voice cracks in the middle and though he’s stopped crying he looks somehow more broken than before.

Louis feels something twist painfully in his chest. He puts a hand on the man’s forearm. “Hey,” he says calmly, waiting for the man to look at him. “No one’s perfect. I’m not perfect, you’re not perfect. _She’s_ not perfect.” The man opens his mouth, no doubt to protest, but Louis talks over him. “Hear me out, yeah? This day is not going to be perfect. You’re going to trip or she’s going to spill something over her dress or a baby is going to start crying in the middle of your vows or the priest is going to get your name wrong. And you know what?”

“What?” the man asks quietly. He’s clinging to Louis’ every word, a strange tone of awe in his voice when he speaks. Louis feels a misplaced sense of power; he knows this sort of breakdown is common and would’ve happened in front of anyone else involved in the wedding if they’d been there at the right time, but it’s still oddly flattering to be the one someone turns to in that moment.

“That’s alright. Years from now you’re not going to think of any of that. You’re going to think of how you felt the moment you said _yes_. It doesn’t have to be perfect for it to be perfect _for you_ ,” he says, putting all the authority he can muster behind the words. The man looks at him for a few seconds, eyes unfocused and breathing increasingly quiet as it steadies. Then he nods slowly.

“Perfect for me,” he repeats to himself as if it’s some deep and novel philosophical thought that Louis’ the first person to come up with. “You’re right.”

“Of course I am,” Louis says. He gives the man’s forearm a quick squeeze before standing up and adjusting his clothes. “Now, go write your vows and I’ll find someone else to deal with these flowers, yeah?” The man nods, a slightly manic grin spreading over his face. He gets up off the bench, pulls Louis into a brief, rib-crushingly hard hug and runs off, throwing a shouted _thank you_ over his shoulder. “You’re welcome,” Louis says to himself. He pulls his jacket tighter around himself against a gust of chilly wind as he heads towards the church in search of just about anyone in charge. Despite the amused fondness that bubbles up in his chest and the pride at the (potentially overstated) part he’s now played in these people’s lives, he dearly hopes the other wedding he’s delivering to later today is less eventful.

*

The shop is, surprisingly, empty when Louis walks back in. Harry’s standing behind the till, hip cocked and shirt open halfway down his chest to show a peek of skin and a flash of dark tattoos. He’s staring intently at his phone, a slight frown of concentration settled over his face. The way he’s tugging on his bottom lip absently makes Louis’ belly lurch; his fingers itch to pull Harry’s hand away so he can replace it with his own teeth.

“What have you done to scare away all of Liam’s loyal minions?” he asks.

Harry looks up at his voice. He smiles, puts his phone away and leans on the worktop instead. “Don’t even joke about that,” he says. “I nearly had a heart attack when the first customer walked in.”

“Aw, poor darling,” Louis coos, only teasing a little. He can’t resist wrapping a curl around his finger and tugging on it gently when he leans in. He watches Harry’s eyelashes flutter at the gesture and files that away for later. “How did it go then?”

“ _Actually_ ,” Harry drawls. He looks up at Louis and leans into Louis’ touch. “It went pretty well. I’ve been Googling flower meanings all morning for no reason apparently. I don’t know if you know this, but a single red rose is, like, _really_ popular on Valentine’s Day.”

Louis snorts. “Pretty popular all the time, to be honest with you.” He combs his fingers through Harry’s hair, feeling the silky strands slip between his fingers when he pushes them back. Harry closes his eyes and tilts his head back. He looks perfectly serene like this, practically purring at being petted. It’s a strangely intimate moment to be having so soon after meeting someone and in a workplace anyone could walk into at any time so Louis lets his fingers tangle and pulls a little, hoping to break Harry out of whatever headspace he’s slipped into. He’s not sure how successful he is because Harry’s lips part on a sigh and he nudges Louis’ hand as if to ask for more. He’s ridiculous and Louis is pretty much already in love. He scratches lightly at Harry’s scalp, face scrunching up with fondness when it makes Harry smile.

“Do you like red roses, Louis?” Harry asks out of the blue.

“Simple but elegant. A classic,” Louis replies diplomatically. He lets his hand drop from Harry’s hair, giving one of the defined curls resting on his shoulder a final tug.

Harry’s eyes blink open slowly. His pupils are blown and he takes a few seconds to focus on Louis. “That’s not a yes,” he says slowly.

“That’s not a no,” Louis counters.

Harry narrows his eyes at him. “Do you have a favourite flower?”

“Nope.”

“You’re a florist!”

“I’m a deliveryman for a florist. Half the time I have no idea what I’m delivering,” he says. He doesn’t mean for it to come out as self-deprecating as it does so he softens it with a little shrug. Harry pouts like the answer offends him on a personal level, bottom lip sticking out and eyebrows drawn together. Louis laughs; he can’t help but poke Harry’s cheek where he knows the dimple is hiding to bring out the smile again. It works. “Do _you_ have a favourite flower, Harry?” he asks.

Harry rubs his thumb over the crook of his left elbow. “A rose has its merits,” he says, a strange undercurrent to his voice. “Sends the message, that’s for sure.”

“What, _I’m not very creative_?”

Harry shoves at his shoulder. “ _I_ think roses are romantic,” he argues.

“And you’re all about romance, aren’t you, Harold?” Louis teases gently. He sees Harry’s cheeks tint pink until they match his shirt. He bops Harry’s nose and laughs when Harry’s whole face scrunches up.

“Nothing wrong with a bit of romance.”

“No, no. Nothing wrong,” Louis agrees honestly. He rubs his hands together in front of himself, watches them when he asks, “I suppose you must already have plans for tonight then?” He thinks he can feel the beat of his heart all the way up in his throat.

Harry stands, crossing his arms over his chest. He regards Louis with an amused expression for a second, then shrugs. “Not really. No one to celebrate with, so…”

Louis’ heart skips a beat. He licks his lips to buy some time and ends up getting distracted by how Harry’s eyes track the movement. He opens his mouth, not yet sure what’s going to come out of it, when the store phone rings loudly, bursting their little bubble and startling them both. Louis rolls his eyes at himself while Harry answers and heads to the backroom to start loading up the van again.

*

“Excuse me,” Louis mutters as he rounds yet another customer on his way to the front of the store. He’s a little behind schedule, not enough to be a problem, but enough that it can turn into one and he really doesn’t have the time to be distracted. The shop is actually more crowded than it is on a normal day, a few clueless guys milling about, a few equally clueless girls touching the petals of random flowers, and the standard issue of middle-aged and elderly women looking at a variety of potted plants; Harry must be doing something right then.

He’s not where Louis expects him to be, but rather in the backroom, bent over the work surface, a few long-stemmed purple flower clusters in one hand and a pale lilac ribbon weaved between the fingers of the other. He takes the scissors from the worktop and trims the branch off on one of the flowers he is holding, then carefully slips it into the bouquet, making space for it by rearranging the flowers around it with a few gentle pushes and nudges. His face is set in a concentrated pout, brows drawn slightly together and lips even more plush than is the norm; he looks adorably lost in his own little world. He wraps the bouquet in a shiny leaf Louis is pretty sure belongs to an entirely different plant and then secures it by tying the ribbon over it in a simple bow. It’s not as perfect or as complex as some of the arrangements that have left the store under Liam’s care, but it’s very obviously made with a lot of care. Louis watches the way Harry’s long fingers touch each flower gently as if giving it a goodbye kiss, how he adjusts the little bow until it sits just right and trims the stems evenly, mindful not to miss a single one. There’s something mesmerising about the way Harry works, how much he puts into it and how careful he is with the flowers. Louis wants to see him doing his own art one day, can only imagine the ghost of a smile on Harry’s face behind the camera, the way his hands hold adjust the shutter and how he probably takes a million photos before he’s satisfied that he has the right one. He doesn’t mean to be dramatic here – Harry is quite literally breath-taking like this and he’s not even in his own element; Louis is not sure how he’d survive watching Harry do something he genuinely loves, but he wants to try.

Harry doesn’t seem surprised to see Louis there when he turns. He brandishes the bouquet in front of himself. “Well?” he asks, presenting it to Louis as if for inspection. He sounds both proud of what he’s done and nervous of the judgement Louis will pass, like Louis has any authority on the matter. Like Louis could ever think any product of Harry’s work could be anything other than amazing.

“It’s lovely,” Louis says, not even really noticing the flowers anymore.

Harry giggles, his cheeks turning pink. “ _Lou_ ,” he whines. “You didn’t even look.”

“Been looking for a while, love,” Louis replies, letting the words drip with innuendo.

Harry rolls his eyes. “I’m serious,” he says. “It’s not bad, right?”

He looks genuinely a bit concerned, so Louis puts a hand on his bicep and gives it a squeeze. He waits until Harry looks away from the bouquet and into his eyes instead. “It really is very pretty,” he says honestly. Harry’s grin lights up his entire face.

*

After almost a year of nearly monthly deliveries from her long-distance girlfriend, Louis almost feels like he knows Alice. He’s handed her everything from a single calla lily to an elaborate sunflower arrangement and he’s watched her get surprised every time, so he’s not entirely shocked when she bursts into tears at the potted orchid he brings her today.

“Sorry, God, I’m so sorry,” she babbles, wiping at her eyes before reaching for the flower.

“It’s alright, darling, just be careful, it’s heavy,” he replies, passing her the ceramic pot. She looks at it like it’s a treasure, which Louis supposes it is, in a way. “Happy Valentine’s Day,” he says, giving her shoulder a squeeze when he sees a fresh wave of tears coming. She smiles a little self-deprecatingly and holds the pot against her hip so she can touch his arm and lean up on her tiptoes to brush a kiss over his cheek.

“Thank you,” she says. Louis feels warm despite the cold weather outside.

*

The lilies he’s delivering are so big, he can’t even see who opens the door at first. It’s only after the old lady takes the arrangement from him with a muttered, “Oh, Edward,” that he gets his first glimpse of her. She’s petite, dwarfed by the elaborate construction of white and pink flowers and deep green leaves, her bony hands gripping the handle of the basket with more strength than Louis expects. “You always did know how to surprise me,” she murmurs to herself. Her eyes are a bit shiny and a lot sad when she looks at Louis. “I’m sorry, dear, do I owe you something?”

Louis struggles to swallow around the lump in his throat at the realisation that dawns on him. “No, nothing,” he says, hearing the strain in his own voice. “Happy Valentine’s Day.”

The lady gives him a crooked smile. “Those are not for me anymore, I’m afraid. But you do me a favour, yeah? Have a good day with someone special for me.” Louis just nods.

He has to sit in his van for a few minutes, too shaken by the scene to drive immediately. So far he’s only ever found his job to be somewhere on the scale of tiringly boring to unexpectedly rewarding, never deeply unsettling. He grips the wheel and tries not to think about how one day he could be the one living alone in a house too big, receiving a thoughtful but belated gift from someone already gone. A chill runs down his spine as he turns the key in the ignition.

*

He’s bringing out the last bouquet of red roses that Liam’s left for him when the bell chimes above the door. A little girl walks in, no more than eight years old he’d guess, wearing a striped dress and a determined expression. He pauses and looks at Harry. Harry raises his eyebrows, a curious smile growing on his face.

“Hello,” the girl says, putting one hand flat on the glass and dropping some coins on it with the other. “I want to buy a flower.”

Harry sweeps the coins off and puts them in the till without counting them. “What kind of flower would you like?” he asks. He bends over, supports himself on his elbows so he’s on the same level as the little girl.

“I don’t know,” the girl says. “Which ones can I have?”

“You can pick whatever you like,” Harry replies calmly. He glances up at Louis and winks. Louis feels suddenly warm all over, a pleasant sort of weight settling in his belly and calming him in a way he can’t explain. “Who are you buying a flower for?” Harry asks.

The girl picks at her fingers, avoiding looking at them. “Um. It’s a friend,” she mumbles, almost a question.

“Does this friend have a name?”

“Of course she has a name, silly,” the girl says with a scoff, startling a laugh out of Louis. Harry kicks at him blindly.

“Okay, what does she like?”

The girl looks at him with wide eyes. “Pretty things,” she says quietly like it’s a secret.

“Oooh,” Harry coos. “Well, let’s see if we have some pretty things lying around. Does she have a favourite colour?”

“Pink! Like your shirt.”

Harry giggles. “Pink like my shirt, hmm, let’s see.” He turns around and runs a finger over the edge of the shelf where Liam keeps large decorative vases filled with assorted freshly cut flowers. He pauses at one, pulling out a bright pink tulip. “How about this?” he asks, handing it to the girl. She holds it right under the blossom like a wine glass, brings it to her nose and sniffs it.

“What does it mean?” she asks with all the seriousness of a child. Louis buries his face in the roses he's holding to hide the fond smile that breaks out.

Harry leans forward. The girl comes up on her tiptoes and turns her head so he can whisper in her ear conspiratorially. “It means perfection,” he says.

The girl eyes the tulip in her hand. She brings it up to her face and smells it again. “I like it!” she decides. “Thank you,” she adds politely before she turns to leave.

“You’re welcome,” Harry replies. “Bye!” He turns to Louis. “That girl’s going places,” he says.

“That girl has a date,” Louis replies. “Her love life is better than mine.”

Harry snorts. “Yours and mine both then.” He doesn’t sound particularly upset by the idea. In fact, if Louis didn’t know better, he’d put money on amused or even excited. Actually, he doesn’t know better.

“Got something to share, Harold?” he asks. He tries to tamper the irrational surge of jealousy that courses through him. He can hear the paper the roses are wrapped in crinkling when his fist tightens.

“Nope,” Harry replies, batting his eyelashes and looking far too innocent to be honest. Louis goes to smack him over the head, but gets distracted by the fact that there are flower petals in his hair. They must have ended up there by accident because they’re only scattered on one side, caught in the cascade of Harry’s curls. He picks one out and shows it to Harry.

“You have flower petals in your hair,” he says. He doesn’t wait for a response before he picks another one up and throws it away. They’re pale blue and feel thin and delicate to the touch, somehow entirely suited to the person they’re currently decorating. Louis almost doesn’t want to remove them. He thinks, in a moment of weakness, that the reason Harry fits in so well here is because he’s a lot like a flower himself, soft and fresh and serenely beautiful. Since he’s definitely not drunk enough to be having those kinds of thoughts, he takes his roses and heads out.

*

He’s strangely proud to see that Harry’s arrangements where they’re lined up on one side of the van don’t look even remotely subpar compared to Liam’s wedding flowers across from them. They look _different_ , obviously suited to less formal occasions and somehow quirkier, less impersonal, but they’re no less stunning than anything Liam’s done.

Louis closes the door and locks it. He can’t shake this wistfulness in his head or calm the butterflies in his tummy even as he drives towards the chapel. His mind is working a mile a minute and he’s definitely getting ahead of himself, but his heart beats faster when he thinks about being the one whose wedding venue somebody delivers flowers to, about being the one on the bench outside the chapel still perfecting his vows mere hours before saying them, about walking down an aisle covered in rose petals. He almost misses the turn when he realises that at the end of that path the person he’s imagining waiting for him is no longer a faceless man wearing an off-the-rack tux, it’s Harry in a floral suit no one else could pull off in a million years and that’s.

Well.

That’s something.

*

By the time Louis gets back for his last orders of the day (only a handful now, all of them Harry’s work, lined up neatly by the till where Harry promised they would be) he’s already knackered. He’s been driving practically non-stop all day, lugging around heavy vases and pots and gingerly handling arrangements taller than most of his siblings and although the bursts of pride and joy and fondness over the reactions he’s witnessed have been a constant influx of positivity, it’s been a physically and emotionally draining day and all he wants to do is have a glass of wine and eat a whole box of chocolates by himself and sleep. And maybe talk to Harry some more.

He’s surprised to find that although Harry looks just as tired, his smile is as bright as it was that morning. He seems to be genuinely enjoying himself here. He’s talking to a tall, attractive guy, pointing out different flowers and picking them up to show what they look like in combination. Louis suspects it’s as much of a guessing game for Harry as it is for the customer. He also suspects the guy isn’t there to buy _Harry_ flowers, but he still feels the need to put a possessive hand on the small of Harry’s back and ask, “Alright?” as he passes them. He feels immediately both guilty and elated when Harry focuses on him and pretty much completely forgets that anyone else is even there.

“Hi, Lou,” he says, dragging the vowels out and making the words sound lazy and reluctant to leave his mouth. His voice dips over Louis’ name giving a gentle and fond inflection. He has his hair up in a messy bun, fly-away strands falling out and framing his face. Louis can practically feel as the rest of the world melts away around him, sounds fading and colours paling until Harry’s the only thing left in focus. There’s a smudge of dirt on his cheek, right over the cheekbone. Louis licks his thumb and wipes it off without even thinking about it.

“Had something on your face,” he says though he doesn’t actually feel like he needs to explain himself. He traces his fingers over the side of Harry’s face absently.

Harry grins. “Yeah, I don’t mind getting a bit messy from time to time,” he replies evenly. Louis can almost feel the heat of the blood that rushes to his cheeks when the guy behind him clears his throat. He pats Harry’s cheek gently. The world stops spinning for the briefest of seconds when he instinctively leans in for a kiss. He sees Harry’s eyes flutter shut, feels the exhale that leaves his parted lips, hears the sharp intake of breath that follows. And then he changes his mind. It’s not the right time and it’s not the right place and when he kisses Harry, and he will, he’s going to do it right, so he pecks the tip of his nose instead to make him smile.

“Oops,” he stage-whispers over Harry’s giggles as he takes the flowers from the worktop.

*

“I’m going to propose tonight,” the guy blurts while he looks through his wallet for the money, then pales once the words are out. “I’m going to propose tonight,” he repeats to himself.

Louis tries not to laugh. It’s his last delivery for today and the relief of an imminent break is making him giddy. “Good luck,” he says. The guy looks almost surprised to find him still there. He drops his wallet, picks it up clumsily only to drop it again. “Nervous?” Louis guesses.

“The roses are too on the nose, aren’t they?” the guy asks.

“I don’t know, I think roses are romantic,” Louis replies. He only hears the words in Harry’s voice in his head. He smiles to himself.

The guy takes a deep breath. “Right, okay. Okay.”

“Okay,” Louis agrees with a grin he can’t hide anymore. It seems to ease the guy’s nerves, at least for now.

*

Harry is standing at the door, obviously not yet locking up. His hair is back down, long waves tumbling over his shoulders, and he has his hands behind his back. He’s bouncing a little where he stands, alternating between coming up on his toes and balancing on the heels of his scuffed boots. The chilly breeze makes his shirt billow out around his hips, but he doesn’t appear to be cold. He looks equal parts nervous and excited. The energy he’s practically vibrating with makes Louis feel light and buoyant; it’s like being in Harry’s presence reenergises him, an instant reset button that wipes all the negativity and exhaustion of the day, leaving him just pleasantly tingly and warm.

“What’s this, then?” he asks when he meets Harry at the door.

“Well,” Harry starts, then breaks off with a nervous laugh. He clears his throat and tries again. “Now that I’ve, successfully might I add, conquered the kingdom, I need someone to rule with.” He takes a flower crown out from behind his back. The delicate petals of peach-coloured carnations flutter in the wind. Harry’s hands are shaking, though whether from nerves or cold, Louis can’t tell. He bends his head a little, letting Harry put the flower crown on him. He adjusts it slightly so it sits properly atop his head and looks at Harry.

“Are you asking me out on a date, Harold?” he asks with a smirk.

“That depends on whether you’re saying yes.”

Louis rolls his eyes and pulls Harry in by the front of his shirt, wrapping his arms around his neck. Harry’s hands rest on his hips naturally as if they’ve done this a thousand times before. He can feel Harry shivering against him. “Is this your attempt at a creative way to say you’re going to treat me like a king?”

Harry barks out a loud laugh. He hides his face in Louis’ shoulder for a moment, then looks back up again, the smile he’s suppressing creating dimples in his cheeks. “Your wish is my command,” he replies, voice strained with held-back laughter. Even though it’s a joke, Louis feels a thrill of arousal run down his spine.

“Well, then,” he says meaningfully. He supports himself on Harry’s shoulders and jumps up to wrap his legs around Harry’s waist. Harry doesn’t even miss a beat before catching him, hands immediately going for Louis’ arse. Louis grins smugly; where Harry’s hands feel disproportionately big on virtually every other part of Louis’ body they’ve been to, here they just fit. “Take me inside, it’s fucking freezing out here.”

“Yes, sir,” Harry agrees, apparently determined to give Louis an awkwardly timed erection. He nudges the door open with his hip and carries Louis inside as if he weighs little more than a feather.

The inside of the shop is a lot warmer. Harry seems to have taken the more delicate unused flowers in the back so he could crank up the heat and he must have cleaned for the day because the entire place smells pleasantly fresh and floral, like it usually only does in the mornings. He carries Louis all the way to the worktop where three small candles and some flowers are floating in a large bowl of water. There are paper plates and plastic cups set out, a small cardboard box from one of the cafés on either side of shop and an open bottle of wine pushed a little to the side. Two of the uncomfortable foldable chairs that usually stay in the back have been brought out and set across from each other.

“I hope you like brownies and red,” Harry says. “Because that’s all I managed to get.”

For once, Louis is left a bit too overwhelmed to talk. He swallows around the sudden lump of emotion in his throat. “It’s— It’s amazing,” he says.

It’s Harry’s turn to be smug when he pinches Louis’ hip and teases, “Yeah? Not too cheesy for you, is it?”

Louis elbows him in the ribs. He tears a lily from one of the displayed arrangements and tucks it behind Harry’s ear. Liam is going to skin him alive, but the flower looks perfect on Harry, the soft, pale petals a perfect match to his skin, the pink gradient the same shade as his lips, the sprinkle of glitter like the sparkle in his eyes. “How’s that for cheesy?” Louis asks.

Harry pulls him in by the waist and nudges their noses together. “Haven’t you heard? I’m a cliché, I like cheesy,” he says, breathing the last word against Louis’ lips.

*

Louis’ lips are still tingling from Harry’s kisses when he sinks to his knees. He trails his hands down over Harry’s chest, pushing his unbuttoned shirt aside to get at more skin. Some other time he plans to touch and kiss every inked line on Harry’s body, memorise the shape of them until he can trace them with his tongue from memory, but right now he settles for thumbing over Harry’s nipples. They’re already perked up, sensitive if Harry’s little gasp is anything to go by.

“I have two more,” Harry says.

“ _What_?”

Harry laughs. He takes Louis’ hands and guides them lower, placing them on his belly either side of the butterfly tattoo. Louis feels the slightly raised nubs under his palms; he watches Harry’s face when he pinches them.

“Are they sensitive?” he asks.

“Not as much as the other ones.”

“Harry,” Louis says, feeling the laughter bubbling in his chest. He’s just the right amount of tipsy to feel pleasantly buzzed and loose without being too out of it to know what he’s doing.

“What?” Harry asks, the word mostly coming out of his nose while his belly vibrates with giggles under Louis’ hands.

“You have _four nipples_.”

Harry manages to pout at him for a few seconds before he starts laughing. His hair curtains his face on one side, still pushed back by the lily on the other, and his cheeks are red with wine and his smile lights up his whole face and fuck, he’s beautiful, him and all four of his nipples. Louis kneels up and places a suckling kiss to the first one he can reach. He really is quite embarrassingly gone for this boy already. Harry pushes at his shoulder. “Tickles,” he complains, nose scrunched up when he shakes his head. Louis bites down lightly, fascinated by how Harry’s eyes slip shut immediately, his teeth sinking into his bottom lip and a soft sound escaping him. He nibbles down Harry’s side until he gets to the soft fleshy bulge of his hip where he bites down hard enough to leave a mark and starts sucking a bruise into the skin. He’s not surprised when Harry throws his head back and moans. He will have to remember that for some other time.

He presses his thumb into the mark and spreads the spit around with it when he pulls back. He looks up at Harry, his torso framed by the shirt that’s fallen off one of his shoulders and the line of his neck long and inviting; the light from the candles still swimming in the bowl behind him catches in his hair and makes it look like it’s on fire. Louis hooks two of his fingers in the wide waistband of Harry’s underwear and runs them over the entire width of his hips. “Wanna suck you off,” he says, his mouth already watering at the visible bulge in Harry’s jeans.

Harry puts a hand on the back of his neck as if to press him closer. “Shit, yeah,” he whispers breathily. He thumbs over Louis’ hairline, the touch light enough to tickle, but doesn’t move his hand further up, leaving the flower crown Louis is still wearing undisturbed. Louis feels a flush spread down his neck and chest at the image he must make, on his knees at his place of work for a boy he only met today, still completely dressed and too concerned with sucking somebody else's cock to take care of his own. He doesn’t let many people see him like this; normally he’s the one putting others in their place, looking down on men much bigger and stronger than him and easily making them cry. He wants to do it with Harry like that, just _knows_ Harry will be perfect at following instructions, eager to please and easy to guide, but for right now Louis is the one feeling unusually small and pretty and quiet in his soft jumper and with flowers in his hair. He undoes Harry’s jeans and yanks them down to his knees to regain some control. It settles him that even with the advantages of position and size Harry seems perfectly content to let him do whatever he wants.

Harry is obviously already hard, his cock clearly outlined under the thin cotton. It twitches visibly when Louis makes a choked sound at the size of it. He’s leaning forward before he can even think, as if pulled in by a gravitational force. He feels the shape of the base with his lips, has to open his mouth wide to trace the shaft with just the barest hint of teeth. His mouth is dry by the time he reaches the tip, but it’s worth it for the faintest bitter taste of precome he gets when he suckles on the head where the cotton’s already darkened with wetness. Harry moans above him, his fingers tightening on the back of Louis’ neck. His hand disappears from Louis’ shoulder. He feels hot and smells strongly of sweat and arousal here and Louis runs his nose over the underside of his cock to bury it in the soft swell of his balls and take a deep breath.

“Please,” Harry whimpers. He tangles his fingers in the short hairs at the base of Louis’ neck and tugs, more for something to do hold onto than to get anywhere, Louis thinks. He opens his mouth and seals it over the soft flesh underneath, suckling as if to leave a mark. He watches the wet spot at the head of Harry’s cock grow. Harry’s looking down at him through half-lidded eyes, chewing on his own lip and circling one of his nipples repeatedly with a thumb. “Please,” he repeats so quietly it almost gets lost in their increasingly harsh breathing.

Louis runs his tongue up to the head, licks at it until even the wetted cotton feels too rough on his tongue, then noses through the light trail of hair up to Harry’s belly button. He kisses the little swell there and rubs his face into the sensitive skin until it pinks up from his beard and Harry starts whining at the touch. He pulls Harry’s underwear down slowly, deliberately leaning in close so Harry’s cock runs over his cheek when it springs free. Harry gasps when it brushes over Louis’ beard, yanking on Louis’ hair so hard he takes a few strands straight out. He pulls back, then seems to change his mind, stands up so he can rub himself over Louis’ face, rutting slowly back and forth against Louis' cheek and letting out little sighs every time he so much as ghosts over Louis’ beard. His cock leaves a sticky trail of precome over Louis’ forehead and cheekbone. Louis tilts his head back and closes his eyes; he darts his tongue out to lick at the base whenever he can. Spit gathers in his mouth until some of it dribbles out the corner of his lips. He brings his hands up to grip at Harry’s thighs for something to hold onto. “Shit,” he curses under his breath when he realises that the skin under his palms is smooth. He sinks his fingers into the firm muscle and pushes Harry away so he can see.

He runs his hands all the way up to Harry’s hips and back down, spreads Harry’s legs open so he can touch his inner thighs as well, curl his fingers up and just barely trace between Harry’s arsecheeks and over his balls. Harry is smooth all over, obviously recently shaven; the skin is soft and supple to the touch. His happy trail leads down to a neatly trimmed and light bush of pubic hair, but other than that he seems to be completely hairless. Louis has a sudden urge to get him naked, to reach under his arms and feel if maybe he shaves there as well, to touch and look at every part of him just to find all the other secrets he’s hiding. “You like it?” Harry asks, as if that is even a question. Louis’ only reply is a heartfelt groan; he cups Harry’s balls with one hand, rolls them around in his palm, feeling the loose folds of skin hairless. He wraps his fingers around the base of Harry’s cock and holds it steady as he takes the head into his mouth. He laps at the slit quickly, moaning at the taste that only gets stronger; Harry seems to get wet easily, probably comes a lot too judging by the size and weight Louis can feel on his palm, and Louis wants to suck on him until every last drop is gone. He sinks lower on Harry’s cock, goes as far as he dares on the first try before coming back up to suck on the head and circle his tongue around it. Harry’s big, both thick and long, already fills Louis’ mouth when Louis sucks him down halfway and stays there, getting used to the stretch of his lips around the girth and enjoying weight on his tongue.

He looks up at Harry as he fists what he can’t get in yet, watches Harry struggle to keep his eyes open and bite his lip so hard it turns white. He feels how the foreskin rolls over the head when he moves his hand; he tightens his hold on Harry’s balls and gives them a gentle tug. Harry’s hips buck forward, his cock pressing further into Louis’ mouth than Louis is ready for and he ends up having to pull off when he starts coughing.

Harry’s quick to move away, rubs his hand in soothing circles between Louis shoulderblades while he stutters out apologies. “Fuck, ‘m sorry, I didn’t— You alright?”

“’m fine,” Louis chokes out. His voice sounds rough and his words come out slurred; he already sounds fucked out. He shivers at the thought of what he’s going to sound like by the end of tonight. He doesn’t wait for a reply before he grabs Harry’s hips and sucks him down again. He goes lower this time, manages to take more than half; he pauses to take a breath through his nose and relax before pushing himself to go further. He hears Harry slap his hand against the glass behind himself, but he doesn’t open his eyes. He feels the head of Harry’s cock nudge against his throat and moans at the same time as Harry. He pulls back, sucking so hard his cheeks hollow out. Harry’s hips stutter forward again; he stops himself in time, but Louis still feels the rush that comes with the mere suggestion. His cock throbs still trapped in his tight jeans and his hole clenches on nothing when he imagines what it will feel like to have Harry fucking him. He presses the heel of one hand between his legs for some relief as he starts up a steady rhythm.

Harry’s leaking so much and Louis can’t stop himself from drooling at the taste; with his mouth too full already, the spit gathers in the corners of his mouth and dribbles out, luckily catching in his beard before it can stain his clothes. Still, stopping now doesn’t even feel like an option. He takes more with every stroke downwards, doesn’t wait until he’s used to the feeling before he forces himself to go further, focusing on the pressure in the back of his throat and feeling his own cock twitch at that. He forgets to breathe when he starts going faster and has to pull back; he focuses on the sensitive head, gives it a few quick, hard sucks, before licking at it thoroughly until Harry’s whimpering for something more. He grips the shaft with his hand and strokes with a tight fist, the glide easy now with all the spit left behind. He sucks hard until his cheeks hollow out and looks up at Harry, knowing full well the picture he makes.

“ _Lou_ ,” Harry moans, precome blurting out and pooling on Louis’ tongue. He lets it gather before he swallows, savouring the taste. Harry puts a hand on his cheek, his thumb tracing the cut of Louis’ cheekbone and dipping down to his cheek. “That looks so good,” he says in a single breath, like he never meant for it to leave his mind. Louis sinks down slowly, letting his eyelashes flutter exaggeratedly as he lets Harry’s cock fill his mouth again. He knows the exact moment Harry feels himself inside, because he gasps and presses his thumb down on Louis’ cheek even when it physically can’t go in anymore. Louis sinks down all the way, working with his gag reflex and swallowing convulsively before managing to relax enough to let Harry in. For a few seconds all he can focus on is the rush of blood in his ears, the adrenaline that courses through him and the heat prickling at the back of his neck; he presses his nose into the soft slope Harry’s lower belly and just breathes. He only gradually becomes aware Harry cursing above him, of Harry’s cock twitching in his mouth, of the fact that he’s drooling so much he can hear the _drip-drip-drip_ of it as it hits the tiled floor. He looks up and locks eyes with Harry as he takes his hand and guides it down to his throat. Harry runs his thumb almost reverently over the bulge. “Fuck,” he whispers. Louis has to close his eyes when they start prickling with tears.

He pulls off entirely, pants to get enough oxygen in; a thin trail of spin connects his mouth with the head of Harry’s cock and he leans in to lick it off. He opens up his jeans quickly, grabs at his cock through his pants and starts squeezing it. He’s only half-hard, his jeans too tight to allow for much more, but his cock fattens up in his hand almost immediately, so suddenly he almost feels dizzy with it. He looks at Harry, at his face slack in pleasure and his chest beading with sweat and his hand slowly stroking his cock. “Fuck my mouth,” he blurts. He feels his cock kick in his hands and squeezes tightly at the top of it, rubbing the cotton roughly into the swollen head.

He watches thick dollops of precome pearl at Harry’s slit at the suggestion. Harry fucks forward into his hand then swipes a thumb over the head, gathering sticky wetness on it and smearing it over Louis’ bottom lip. Louis follows the movement with his tongue and sucks the finger into his mouth. Harry presses down on his tongue, pulls his thumb out and pushes it back in a few times. “You sure?” he asks.

Louis licks at the rough pad of the digit in his mouth before pushing it out with his tongue. “Just start slow, yeah?” he says in lieu of an answer. Harry taps his shoulder and reaches for his hand; he places it on his own hip.

He tilts Louis’ head up by the chin and bends over to kiss his lips gently. “Stop me if it gets to be too much,” he says seriously. He waits for Louis to nod and squeeze his hip before righting himself. Louis feels his throat tighten up, anticipation of what’s coming and unexpected emotion both. He shuts his eyes. When he opens them, his eyelashes are clumped together with wetness. He doesn’t wipe it away.

Harry scratches gently at the top of his head before sinking his fingers into the long strands there and twisting them around his fingers. With his other hand he nudges the flower crown that’s slipped sideways back into the right position. He pulls on Louis’ hair, tilts his head back and to both sides by it, then nods and steps forward. He steadies his cock with his hand at the base and guides it to Louis’ lips, smearing precome over them. Louis swallows audibly and opens his mouth as wide as he can. He keeps his eyes open and trained on Harry’s face while Harry feeds him his cock, pushing in slowly until he’s about halfway inside, then giving a few shallow thrusts as a warning. Louis’ eyes slip shut and he moans loudly. He lets his tongue loll out, unconcerned with how messy he might end up, and relaxes his entire body until Harry’s fist in his hair is the only thing holding him up. He feels Harry’s hand on his cheek a second before Harry starts fucking his mouth.

He goes slowly at first, just like he promised to, starts out with shallow thrusts that get deeper but not faster. Louis tries to keep up with the rhythm, to time when he sucks and when he breathes to how fast Harry wants to go, but too soon it gets hard to focus on anything other than the way Harry’s cock feels in his mouth. The sound of it is obscenely wet, especially when Harry speeds up and Louis would almost be embarrassed about it if it weren’t for how it’s still drowned out by the way Harry grunts every time he fucks in. He chokes a little when Harry goes almost all the way in, too unprepared and slow to react to open up his throat; he splutters, some spit spraying out of his mouth. It doesn’t even occur to him to tell Harry to stop. Harry slows down anyway, lets him catch his breath with a few shallow thrusts that mostly send the head of his cock scraping over the roof of Louis’ mouth.

“Gonna try again, okay?” he says, tugging Louis’ head sideways to get his attention. “You want me to be rough?”

Louis whines and nods as much as he can with his mouth full. He opens it wider, wide enough that his jaw hurts from the position and shuffles forward, trying to practically impale himself on Harry’s cock. Harry pulls on his hair harshly, keeping him where he is and holding him steady as he thrusts in. He’s not as gentle this time, doesn’t give Louis any warnings and doesn’t work up to it; he fucks in almost all the way right from the start, snaps his hips forward fast enough that Louis almost feels like his mouth is constantly full. He doesn’t even try to keep up, lets Harry use him any way he likes. He chokes the first few times he tries to take Harry all the way, but Harry doesn’t stop, keeps pushing him until he gets so used to it that it barely registers.

It’s hard to breathe when he spends so much time spluttering and gasping; the world goes a bit fuzzy around the edges when he gets light-headed. He doesn’t realise he’s started tearing up until Harry wipes away the wetness that’s gathered under his eye. He feels a few tears slip out and slide down his cheeks anyway. Opening his eyes clears his head a little, brings him back to reality enough that he can appreciate the awed look on Harry’s face, the play of muscles under the taut skin of his belly as he rolls his hips, the guttural sounds he’s making. He looks into Harry’s eyes to focus and consciously relaxes his throat; the next time Harry fucks in, he goes all the way. His hips stutter, pushing his cock further in. “Fuck,” he mutters; he pulls on Louis’ hair, tilts his face upwards a little and holds the back of his neck to keep him in the position he wants before pulling out just enough for the head of his cock to slip free and pushing back inside almost immediately.

It burns after a few times, but Louis is ready for it. The pain makes it even better and he kneads at his own cock roughly, wondering if he can come just from this. He knows he won’t be able to keep up for long, almost sinks his nails into Harry’s side in warning when Harry pauses with the head of his cock squeezed tightly in Louis’ throat and curses loudly, a few droplets of sweat falling from the tip of his nose on Louis’ face when he jerks back.

He pulls out fast, starts striping his cock almost before it’s even out of Louis’ mouth and cups his hand around the tip. Louis feels like a puppet with its strings cut, slumps forward and crawls the step or two that brings him in front of Harry. He’s panting hard and his throat hurts and clearing it doesn’t help one bit and his voice is completely ruined, but he manages to dig his nails into Harry’s thigh and choke out, “Come on my face.”

Harry makes a broken sound as he grabs for Louis’ hair and tilts his head back, shooting over his face almost immediately. Louis barely has the time to close his eyes and open his mouth when the first hot rope of come lands over his cheek; he feels some of it stripe over his mouth and chin and then Harry swipes the head of his cock over his bottom lip so the come coats it and drips down into his mouth and over his chin. He opens his eyes to see Harry shake through a few aftershocks and milk the last drops of come straight onto his tongue. He closes his mouth and swallows what he’s been given, letting the rest of it sit on his face. It's almost like the heat of it brands his skin; he feels thoroughly claimed and owned. He sighs happily and smacks his lips together, trying to get every last bit of the taste in his mouth.

Harry lets go of his hair and soothes the pain in his scalp with a gentle press of his thumb. He swipes Louis’ fringe to the side and adjusts the flower crown on his head before pulling him up to his feet. “Nod if you’re okay,” he says, words still broken up with shallow breaths and little shivers. Louis nods. He almost falls into Harry, his knees hurting and his legs too shaky to hold him up. Harry wraps an arm around his waist and slips a leg between his thighs; Louis grinds down instinctively, finally feeling the urgency seep into his belly now that he’s not focused on Harry’s pleasure. He practically mewls, clinging onto Harry's shirt and relying on him to stay upright. “Did you come, baby?” Harry asks, knocking Louis’ hand away and wrapping his hand around Louis’ cock. “You’re all wet.”

Louis moans weakly, torn between the subtle pressure of grinding against Harry’s thigh and the sharper pleasure of Harry rubbing the wet cotton of his underwear over his cock. He leans his forehead against Harry’s and pants through the thrills of pleasure Harry’s hand sends through him. He knows he’s going to come soon, can already feel it building in his belly. He puts his hand on Harry's chest to feel the strong beat of his heart. Some of the mess on his hand, whatever mixture of come and spit he's managed to get on it, smears over the inside of Harry's shirt when it falls forward and covers his chest.

“You’re so pretty like this, Lou,” Harry murmurs, kissing Louis' forehead and down the side of his face, seemingly not caring if he gets messy too. “Look so good with my come on your face. Got some in your beard even.” He focuses on the top of Louis’ cock, squeezing rhythmically and rubbing his thumb over the head harshly in quick concentric circles until he’s just prodding at the slit. He licks over Louis’ cheek and swollen bottom lip then kisses him, pushing his tongue into Louis’ mouth so Louis can suck the come off of it. He bites on Louis’ lip and tugs it when he pulls back. “Bet you look even prettier when you come,” he says, his breath mingling with Louis’ when Louis whines and pants as he rides Harry’s thigh. “Wanna show me? Let me see how pretty you are, love.”

Louis buries his face in Harry's neck. He feels thick come filling his underwear and sliding down his cock, getting him even wetter and messier. He sobs quietly against Harry's skin, mouthing and drooling over it without really making a sound. He almost feels like the way Harry's fingers sink into his waist, the press of Harry's lips to his temple, the whispered _there we go, that's it,_ _beautiful_ that he's not even sure is really for him are more important than the orgasm itself. Harry strokes him with a tight fist until he milks the last drop, holds him close throughout.

Louis is not sure how long they spend like that, leaning against each other and catching their breaths. He thinks he could probably happily spend the rest of his life in that moment, still overwhelmed by Harry in the best way. His senses slowly return bit by bit. He feels boneless, doesn’t think he could get up now if his life depended on it. He only makes the effort to move when he feels the come on his face starting to itch as it dries. He manages to extricate himself from Harry with minimal help and waddle off to the back room where he can clean up at the sink. He looks at himself in the little mirror on the wall; his eyes are red-rimmed and lips obviously swollen, come smeared over his face and pearly droplets of it clearly defined where they're caught in his beard. The ring of soft carnations is crooked on his head, a few of them looking a little worse for wear. He takes it off and puts it aside while he washes his face and gingerly wipes his softening cock. He picks it up and puts it back on his head as soon as he's done. It's almost like a different kind of marking, one that still makes him feel Harry's but also makes him feel somehow soft and well,  _pretty_. That's never mattered to him much before Harry called him that. It definitely something he needs to explore more.

When he comes back he’s hit with how strongly the shop smells of a strange mix of flowers and sex. The light makes eerie shadows dance over the walls as the candles flicker and paints Harry’s face in deeply contrasting tones. Harry looks up from where he’s combing through his hair, the lily from behind his ear tucked in a buttonhole of his newly (mostly) buttoned shirt; it rides up enough to reveal his tummy and the slightest shade of beard burn left on it. He smiles tentatively. “Happy Valentine’s Day?”

Louis snorts. His throat burns; he tries to clear it instinctively even though he knows he’ll still feel the same tickle come morning probably. “Pretty sure it’s past midnight,” he replies. His voice is rough and scratchy, breaks twice in the one sentence. He swallows. The clear evidence of what they’ve done, the fact that anyone who'd hear him now would know, only prolongs the high he’s still riding.

“Guess I’ll have to try again next year,” Harry says, making the statement sound like a question. He reaches a hand out towards Louis and Louis takes it, coming easily when Harry pulls him in for a hug.

“Guess so,” he agrees, letting Harry cuddle him close and play with his hair, lips pressed to his temple. His face ends up pressed into Harry's chest in a way that should be uncomfortable. Somehow he feels like he's really breathing for the first time maybe ever.

“You okay?” Harry checks.

Louis places a gentle kiss over the first patch of bare skin he can reach and pinches Harry's hip. “You’re driving me home," he rasps through a smile. "And _I’m_ calling in sick tomorrow."

**Author's Note:**

> a huuuuuuuuuuge thank you to susi, grace, hannah and alice for helping me figure out the mess this fic could've ended up being (even though i didn't always listen to them) and to laura, ema, mimi, ana and dani for just generally dealing with the mess that i am
> 
> happy valentine's day and aimh 2m day ❤
> 
> find me [on tumblr](http://captivekinqs.tumblr.com)


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